Watchin' Paint Sweat
by dixiedream1n
Summary: He's trying not to take his mood out on his oblivious blond cousin, he really is.


******A/N:** promptfic: tractor, city

Not sure where this one came from. Luke was just in a mood and I couldn't do anything else with him...

* * *

"Have you ever found it ridiculous that we have to go into the _city_ to buy _tractor_ parts?"

It's not the most intelligent or even thoughtful of comments from Luke Duke, usually the quickest-witted of the small Hazzard clan, but in his defence it is a particularly hot, sweaty, dull day, the kind of Southern summer that's all creaking crickets even in broad daylight and salt stinging eyes already squinted half-shut against the sun's glare and days that would really rather be spent in the relative cool of a shady-banked fishing hole. As much as the General Lee is the Duke boys' pride and joy, and as much as Luke himself is particularly proud of having done the lion's share of the work on the Charger's racing engine, sitting behind the heat of that engine on an already hundred-degree day for the hour it takes to drive to Capitol City is not on his list of things he'd rather be doing today. He's trying not to take his mood out on his oblivious blond cousin, he really is. Therefore, the question posed a moment ago.

Bo appears to be actually really thinking that one over, too. Considering the whys and whereforeto's of just why they're going to this aforementioned city, and today of all days, as well. Luke feels one corner of his mouth curl wryly upward, not really a friendly smile, hardly a smile at all, and turns his head to look out the passenger window past the hand he's got gripping the upper sill, hoping to catch just that much more moving air.

"Don't really make all that much sense, does it?" the blond finally agrees, barely taking his eyes away from the curving track of the road – a habit Luke drilled into a much-younger, easily distractable boy with much shouting and threatening to take back the wheel if Bo didn't look where he was going. Bo's still easily distractable, but he's grown into a fine, even safe driver – as safe as can be when sliding bootlegger turns around hilly dirt roads, anyway. "You'd think Rhuebottum'd have an old Ford carburator... or Cooter. At least Cooter."

Luke snorts slightly. "If it don't belong in a _car_, Cooter ain't _gonna_ have it. Except for the occasional pile of orange paint." That half-smiled dig just _had_ to be made; memories of a years-ago midnight when the only coat available to cover a newly-minted General Lee had been a particular Allis-Chalmers shade of orange-red that the town mechanic hadn't known what to do with. Seriously, when was the last time that particular brand of tractor had been seen in Hazzard County? Nowadays people pretty much forgot that particular shade of paint had ever been anything other than "General Lee Orange".

"Still. We need a farm supply store. A real one. Besides just Rhuebottom's. I mean for tractor parts and that has enough fence posts that we don't have to order 'em four days early, and stuff like that."

"Who's gonna run it, Bo? You?" Luke knows his tone gives away his odd, edged mood, but it's too late now. Bo gives him a brief, half-hurt little sideways look before apparently deciding it isn't worth it to him to stay hurt or get mad. The dark-haired cousin grimaces slightly to himself and presses the sweaty back of his head against the hot vinyl headrest behind him. "Yeah, it's a great idea, I give you that. Like I said, seems pretty crazy to go to the city for farmin' supplies. Just, I dunno who'd get it started, or done right, and how, and when. People're too busy doin' actual farmin' – or" he amends, cause it's true "sittin' around an' watchin' grass dry an' paint sweat."

Bo shoots him another little look that's way too wry to be seen on that blond face – there's ways Luke wants to rub off on his cousin, but his less stellar moods ain't one of 'em. "You're in a mood."

Took you this long to figure it out?, he wants to say. Instead what he pulls out is "It's hot, I'm hot, I'm thirsty, I'm tired, drop it."

Bo makes a face that suspiciously reminds Luke of an eight-year-old blond when he _really_ wanted to stick his tongue out but Jesse was watchin'. But he drops it, that topic anyway, and looks forward again, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. That makes Luke just miss the radio – because hot, tired, grumpy Duke boys haven't gotten around to repairing whatever wiring malfunction made it up and stop working two weeks ago. He thumps his head back lightly again, draws in a deep breath, and sighs.

"Somebody still should." He should've known Bo couldn't keep actually quiet for long. Especially not when his so-smart older cousin had planted a bug in his brain. "I might just bring it up in the next town meetin'. What about that?"

Yes, because Luke could count the times Bo had ever _been_ to a town meeting in his _life_ on one hand. Probably literally, but he doesn't feel like actually thinking back that far and in that much detail. He just finally grunts something like assent, and the General Lee continues on its trek westward, on an errand unplanned, in a direction undesired.

At least the steady rumble-purr of the car himself seemed to be appreciating the smoothness of asphalt under rut-and-gravel accustomed tires.


End file.
